VERSES 



J. C. L. Clark. 



^mw^mmmm^ 



LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 



Chap...— _. Copyright No.. 
Shelf. 



UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



2nd COFV, 






') 1898 ■^ I 



By J. C. Iv. CLARK. 

Studies in Books and Travei^. (This volume, which 
will include the paper entitled "Tom Moore in Bermuda" 
published in 1897, may be definitely announced for the 
Christmas holidays of 1900-1901 J 

VkrsES. (In the present booklet Mr. Clark has made a 
definitive selection of his earlier writings.) 



VERSBS 

; cL 






By JfCrL; CLARK 



' Velox CBtas prcBterity 
Studio detenta,'' 

Xike a dream our prime is flown, 
Prisoned in a study." 



IvANCASTKR, MASSACHUSETTS, U. S. A. 
Printed for the Author 
By Wm. H. Benson, Cwnton, Mass. 
1899. 



■ LtzVif 

1891 

Copyright, 1898, by J. C. L. Ci,ark. 



*^./- 



DEC8- 






TO 
MY DKAR MOTHER 



CONTENTS 



To R. K 1 

The Legend of the Great Elm 2 

Harvardiensis contra Mundum 4 

* ' Thus wearily the King' ' 5 

The Robin's Snow 6 

Parable for the Times 7 

"Out west the owls all say * To Who? ' " 8 

At a Portrait Show 9 

The Old Town Clock 10 

To 11 

Invitation 12 

To a Young Fair Maid 13 

A New Legend of St. Valentine 14 

Swedenborg in London 15 

Parody : Ksau Crumm 16 

Why the Stars Shine in the Night 17 

Prayer for a Friend 19 

To G. M. B. on his Jubilee Day 20 

In Grandma's House 21 

Triolet of Dear Grandmamma 22 

The Steeple Chase 23 



TO R. K. 

"Beware," you write, "of Adam-zad, the bear that looks 

like a man," 
And you make us laugh and shudder, as only the poet can; 
Yet away in the northern darkness Christ is speaking thro' a 

man. 
And — perhaps you understand him as well as an Englishman 

can. 

Away in the northern darkness, from the cold of the northern 

night, 
HIS apostle is crying the message, and you do not hear it 

right; 
But we who would fain believe him rejoice that he sitteth there, 
On the great white throne of the Russias, young Alexander,' 

the Bear. 



THE IvEGEND OF THE GREAT ELM 

A PENFIEIyD STORY 

Long stilled is the sound of mourning, long dry are the 

people's tears; 
For Philip Henshaw, the doctor, is dead two hundred years: 
And often and often I've heard it, yet I listen with bated 

breath 
When they tell how Philip Henshaw, the doctor, met his 

death. 

You've heard of Mother Fernald, and the things she used 

to do; 
She died in seventeen hundred, cstatis ninety-two; 
She came as a girl from England — and she came for England's 

good — 
And for seventy years she lived here, in a little hut in the 

wood. 

It was in the hot midsummer of sixteen ninety-eight 

That the Hopewell brig, from Lisbon , brought a damned and 

dreadful freight: 
In Boston Bay she anchored, and certain of her crew 
Came back to their homes in Penfield, and with them the 

plague came too. 

And the people prayed, and trembled, and fasted before the 

Lord, 
But little He seemed to heed them, and the pestilence walked 

abroad ; 
And Philip Henshaw, the doctor, saved many from the grave, 
And tenderly closed the eyelids of them whom he could not 



THE LEGEND OF THE GREAT ELM 

A little maid came to the doctor, "O Doctor Henshaw!" she 

said, 
"The old witch mother is sick, I know not but she be dead." 
The doctor listened kindly; but the parson was standing 

nigh : 
"God's truth, 'tis a judgment on her! Let the old witch 

woman die." 

"Not so," said Henshaw, the doctor, "for why should I pick 

and choose ? 
The good God lent me talents, shall I not render His dues?" 
And he spake to the maiden gently : "Lead on to the woman's 

side." 
And he cured the old witch woman, and he caught the plague, 

and he died. 

And the witch dwelt still in the forest, living wickedly, as 

before, 
Caring naught for church or for parson, and died in a year 

or more. 
But they mourned for Philip Henshaw, and his name is a 

name apart; 
And they say the elm -tree yonder grew out of the doctor's 

heart. 



HARVARDIENSIS CONTRA MUNDUM 

You see him with his slouched felt hat, 

His dainty oaths and cigarettes, 
Who bets his "mun " on Harvard's team, 

And, Ivord! has often lost his bets; 
You talk of his indifference. 

You wisely prate about the cliques : 
The Harvard man smokes calmly on, 

And little your approval seeks. 

Walk through the transept over there. 

And read those names : when all is done, 
A heap of Harvard fellows fought 

And bled and died in Sixty -one ; 
I think he's not so different 

A brute from what he was before, 
If need were for the President 

To call three hundred thousand more. 

The good old Harvard spirit dead! 
"Truth " rotten! — You don't like our looks. 
But Phillips was a Harvard man, 

And Everett and Phillips Brooks 
And Billy Russell — yes, the roll 

Is somewhat tedious; well, so long! 
But mind we've men in college now 

With hearts as strong as theirs were strong. 



1896. 



Thus wearily the King: 

" No promises 

For me of brighter life than this we leave ! 
But hail ! good, tender, faithful Nothingness, 

That whispers, ' No more joy, no longer grieve.' 

Thus the young king. And ofttimes would he ride 
Forth from his capital's loud roar and din; 

One day he saw a blue-eyed maid, and cried, — 
" E^ternity were short to love her in." 



THE ROBIN'S SNOW: 

CHIIvD-RHYME 

The first day of April fell the big white flakes of snow ; 

Said the Bluebird to the Redbreast, "Oh ! oh! oh!" 

Said the Redbreast to the Bluebird, " My good Sir, don't you 

know 

That this is but a robin's snow?" 

" Now come, Neighbour Bluebird, let us loudly, cheerly 

sing," 
CAnd he shook a monstrous snowflake off his pretty little 

wing; 
*' For, spite of the snow, 'tis the dear, dear spring," 

So the Redbreast and the Bluebird did sing. 

The second day of April the sun did brightly glow ; 

The Bluebird and the Redbreast went hopping to and fro ; 

Said the Redbreast to the Bluebird, "I was confident, you 

know. 

That that was but a robin's snow." 



PARABI.E FOR THE TIMES 

I saw two robins yesternight; 

They fought adown the garden path, 
Their feathers flew, sore was their wrath 

It was, in sooth, a dreadful sight. 

"Hold, hold, rash fowls! I've often read, 
'Birds in their little nests agree' ; 
Your tiny bills can never be 
To tear each other's eyes," I said. 

"Is't love has caused your deadly hate? 
Some Juliet or Imogen 
Has set you by the ears, I ween ; 
'Twere better far to arbitrate, — 

"To slay each other seems a pity." 
Each little robin cocked his head. 
And fiercely whisked his tail, and said, 

"Sir, we're the church committee." 



Out west the owls all say "To who ?" 

In Boston's groves, "To whom?" quite rightly; 
But little bluebirds chant in Latin, 
''Cui? cuif eruditely. 



AT A PORTRAIT SHOW 

I loiter here : on every side 

Are stately dames of ancient race, 
Younger, and fairer too, than she, 

Yet something draws me to that face ; 
So kind it is, so pure and sweet — 

A happy fate I trust was hers ! 
Who was she? Nay, the words I read 

Are only these: "Unknown. By Greuse. 

And still I linger, loath to go, 

And study those large hazel eyes, 
The faintly flushing cheeks, the lips 

That answer by a mild surprise. 
Who wert thou, lovely reticence. 

Ere yet the century had flown ? 
But no reply comes down the years. 

Save only this : "By Greuse. Unknown. 



THE OLD TOWN CLOCK 

*'So the old Town Clock is dead!" 

Sadly all the people said. 

Time's afflictions long he bore, 

Yet could now endure no more, 

And one evening, said, "Tick, tock!" 

Little short of six o'clock; 
"Tick, tock!" that was all he said, 

And the old Town Clock was dead. 

Late the Clock had shown each day- 
Intellectual decay. 
Often stopped at dead o' night, 
Seldom told the time aright — 
Striking twelve at half -past four. 
Striking twenty -five or more; 
"Nothing much," we said, "though queer' 
Now we drop a silent tear ; 
Little guessed we, you and I, 
That so soon the Clock would die. 

But our tears fall now too late — 
Rest thy pendulum, thy weight! 
Never in the stilly night. 
Never in the noonday light. 
Never to the end of time 
Hear we thy familiar chime. 
When my hour conies, may I be, 
Ancient time-piece, mourned like thee! 



10 



TO 



God took the south-west wind, and chose a bit; 
Moulded blush roses— myriads — in with it ; 
Then washed what he had made in fresh May dew; 
And kissed it on the lips, and called it— YOU. 



11 



INVITATION 

Know you where the apple-trees 
Cast their petals on the breeze, 
Where to spring-bedazzled sight 
All the world is pink and white? 

Nay then, tell me, do you know 
Where the wee white violets grow,— 
Where the small, sweet blossoms wait 
For a school -girl and her mate? 

But in meadows cool and green 
Fairer flower was never seen, 
Never sweet white violet blew 
That was half so sweet as you. 

Leave your tasks, whate'er they be, 
Come a-maying, dear, with me; 
Apple blossoms fade with May, 
Violets must pass away. 



12 



TO A YOUNG FAIR MAID 

A certain little maid I know 
Of tender years, fourteen or so, 
Who says she does not care at all 
To know how Csesar conquered Gaul, 
Crushed the Helvetii, and such. 
And that she hates it, oh so much ! 

This gentle maid of whom I write 

Is very fair and very bright ; 

She's sometimes gay and sometimes sad, 

But seldom cross, and never bad. 

And from her head down to her feet 

A little lady, pure and sweet. 

Now, pretty sweetness, do your best 
With * ' Gallia divisa est, ' ' 
And think on Latin word and rule, 
Which are the proper things in school. 
If you'll but heed my halting rhyme, 
You'll vanquish Caesar, dear, in time. 



13 



A NEW I.KGKND OF ST. VAI^KNTINK 

There lived in Rome a worthy saint 

(None better in the almanac !) 
Who used to kiss the pretty maids, 

Of whom in Rome there was no lack. 

For such and other pious deeds 
The pagans did destroy this bishop, 

And as he perished at the stake 

He sent a mighty saintly wish up, — 

That he might gain a paradise 

Where there be girls in goodly host; 

And with this prayer ('tis my prayer too) 
The holy man gave up the ghost. 

But when at hand of cruel man 
The sweet St. Valentine was dying, 

They say that every girl in Rome 

Did make her black eyes red with crjdng. 

'Twas second month and fourteenth day 
The good saint's martyrdom befell, 

And since that year the day has been 
A sentimental festival. 



14 



SWKDBNBORG IN I^ONDON 

In Coldbath Fields, of I^ondon Town, 
Thro' streets where humble craftsmen wrought, 

A hundred years ago and more 
A mighty seer strolled, and thought. 

Behold him, with his wig, and sword, 
And cane, in neat brown velvet clad; 

And see ! he pauses in his walk 
To notice proper lass or lad. 

I love to picture him, who walked 

In spirit oft where seraphs dwell. 
With pockets stored with gingerbread 

For the sweet children he loved well. 

Long since the wise old Swede hath passed, 

And (as we say) they too are dead. 
Who shared as little children once 

The gentle prophet's gingerbread. 



15 



PARODY: ESAU CRUMM 

(with APOI.OGIES TO E. A. R.) 

Withal a hairy man was Ksau Crumm, — 
His beard was very bushy, thick, and long. 
He drank hard cider, which be sure was wrong, 
And in his speech was very close and mum. 
On every theme save one was Esau dumb ; 
But on his beard he would the talk prolong 
For hours, — yes, his language too was strong, 
And of that beard he wearied people some. 

There came a man to Gardiner Town one day, 
A stranger, one who never drank, because 
(He told the folk) he did not think it right. 
He had a beard, so Gardiner gossips say, 
Longer by half a yard than Ksau's was. 
And Esau signed the pledge that very night. 



16 



WHY THE STARS SHINE IN THE NIGHT 

Children , can you tell me right 
Why the stars shine in the nighty 
Why they always steal away 
When the sun brings in the day ? 
Nay, I see you do not know. 

Hear then what a poet said. 
Good Professor Arndt, now dead; 

I have read it long ago. 
Cogitate it in your beds, 
Let it wojk in all your heads, 
Then come tell me, if you can. 
Little lass and little 7nan, 
If he gave the reason right. 
Why the Stars Shine in the Night. 

The Sun on his travels was just starting out 

Round the world; 
And "We're going too," the little Stars shout, 

"Round the world!" 
Then the Sun he scolded them, "You stay at home ! 
For I'd burn out your little bright eyes as I roam 
On my fiery way round the world." 

Then the Stars came and spake to the fair moon on high, 
After dark : 
"O dear Moon enthroned in the billowy sky 
After dark, 
I^et us wander with thee, for thy gentle light 
Will not dim our poor little eyes so bright." 
So they help her to lighten the dark. 

17 



WHY THE STARS SHINE IN THE NIGHT 

Hail Stars, and hail Moon, thou dearest and best, 

In the night ! 
Thou knowest what silently dwells in the breast 

In the night. 
Come haste ye and light up the skies, that I may 
In happiness join in your heavenly play, 
The cheerful play of the night. 



18 



PRAYER FOR A FRIEND 

(b. a. m.) 

lyord, I know him true to me : 
Keep him ever true to Thee ; 

Keep him from the foul and mean ; 
Keep him innocent and clean. 

If once more I see his face 
Grant that I may never trace 

What I find not in those eyes, 
Kind and beautiful and wise. 

If I never see him more, 
If upon no farther shore, 

Ivip to lip and heart to heart, 

We should meet, no more to part, — 

Bring him to the last black goal, 
White, and of untainted soul. 

Take him from me, lyord, and then 
Keep him safe for me. Amen. 



19 



TO G. M. B. ON HIS JUBII^BB DAY 

Thou of that noble band who unappall'd 
Threw off the hampering shield of dogma when 
Faith's battle-line seem'd brok'n; worthy to be call'd 
One of the dear Lord Christ his Gentlemen ; 

Rever'd; belov'd: many thy days and pure, 
For thou thy days hast liv'd as one among 
The hovering great, who fear not but endure, 
The "choir invisible" that one hath sung. 

Mncaster, 5 Aug., 1897. 



20 



IN GRANDMA'S HOUSE : 

CHII.D-RHYMB; 

There is a room in grandma's house 

Where many treasures be, 
All relics of the olden time, 

Or from beyond the sea. 

There lovely shiny dresses are 

Arrayed upon the walls. 
The dresses that my grandma wore 

When she went out to balls ; 

Great-grandpa's hat and wig are there, 

Hung up on ancient nails ; 
A pair of shoes, a pair of specs, 

A coat with swallow tails ; 

A cabinet of china cups. 

Like egg-shells white and thin — 
Ah, me, 'tis quite a stretch of years 

Since there was tea within ! 

A Chinese mandarin that nods 

In such a civil way. 
As if to say, ** Good morning, sir ! 

'Tis quite a pleasant day." 

But all the things that room contains 

'Tis very hard to see; 
For generally the door is locked, 

And grandma keeps the key. 



21 



TRIOI^ET OF DEAR GRANDMAMMA 

A bonnet old-style 

Hides a face sweet and arch ; 

I really must smile 

At the bonnet old-style 

But mark her eye's wile! 
Grandma's eighty in March. 

'Tis a bonnet old-style 
Hides a face sweet and arch. 



22 



THK STEKPI.K CHASE 

Away in the City of Spindles, whe^-e the Me^-rimack flows to 

the sea. 
Little -maid, little maid, with the nut-brown hair, will you 

sometimes think oj w<? ? 
Just once in a way, at the close of the day? — And then I 

sha'n^t so much fnind, 
Being ugly, and awkward, and loftely, and sad, — just a dull 

old Harvard gri7id . 

Can it be, my dear lady, you never have heard 

Of the great wind in Ireland? Well, it occurred 

Some half century since, in the year '43. 

My friend Pat O'Growley related to me 

That a steeple was blown far away to the sea. 

But the wind — oh my gracious ! for three mortal days 

It blew and it blew, and in fear and amaze 

The folk told their beads, and they wept, and they curst. 

In the County of Galway 'twas rather the worst. 

Why ! on the third and the windiest day 

Barns were blown down, and huts carried away, 

And haystacks went galloping over the land. 

And great oak-trees had all they could do for to stand, 

And brickbats and suchlike like leaves on the strand 

Went flying. 

In one place — I can't speak the name, 
Some small country parish untroubled by fame — 
The steeple blew off in the night. At the rise 
Of the sun all the people stood rabbing their eyes — 
They thought 'twas a dream unusually "quare" ; 
For the elegant church -steeple wasn't where 
(You'll agree) a respectable steeple should perch — 
'Twas blown clear away from the roof of the church. 

23 



THE STBBPLK CHASE 

They printed a handbill: "Lost or Stolen, a Steeple ! 

Now whosoever returns to the people" 

Of so-and-so parish "their steeple receives 

Five guineas in gold!" Ah, deeply it grieves 

Me to say 'twas in vain. But from Belfast to Cork 

The matter created a vast deal of talk. 

Soon they heard of it on t'other side George's Channel; 

And to Leeds, where you know they make so much flannel, 

And even to London the sad story ran, I 

Understand that at Glasgow they said, " 'Tisna' canny!" 

Till at last the tale of the steeple's mad caper 

Filled a column in some big American paper, 

The whole truth of the matter — perhaps rather more, 

With particulars no one had told of before. 

All was vain, as I said, for — alas and alack! 

The lost church -steeple was never brought back; 

And that's the true reason, depend you upon it, 

The church in that parish has no steeple on it. 



24 



